Page 65 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

I hadn’t had a chance to see Mihir all day. I kept daydreaming about him in traditional Indian clothing, and it had set my heart thrumming. After helping Tara and Riya get dressed for the event, I returned to my room to change. I had just locked the door when I heard a soft knock. Assuming it was Riya, I opened it with haste, only to find Mihir slipping in stealthily.

“What are you doing?” I whispered as he locked the door behind him. “You can’t be here!”

“Shh, let me kiss you quick. I stole a minute from Sameer. He’s been watching me like a hawk.”

“That’s why you need to stay away,” I warned in a hushed voice.

He pulled me close but didn’t kiss me. Leaning in, he buried his face in my neck and inhaled as if he’d been waiting for that particular breath all day long. “Oh, Sona,” he said, and I wrapped my arms around him.

“I need to be downstairs soon. Tara’s waiting for me,” I said to distract myself from the fact that both my stomach and my heart were in knots.

He peered straight into my eyes, and my heart stumbled over itself before he placed his lips gently upon mine. The tenderness, however, soon turned into wildfire, like it always did between us.

He put his hand underneath my T-shirt, snapped open the hook closures of my bra, and pushed it up to free my breasts. With his hand flat on my abdomen, he slid it up slowly as his frenzied mouth continued to devour me.

His thumb landed on my nipple with just the fabric of my T-shirt between us, and I lost my bearings. When I moaned in his mouth, his touch turned to fire and he pinned me against the door. I reached out to touch him, but before I could, he pushed my shirt up and squeezed my breast. I clutched his hair in my fist as he moved to the other.

I was ready to take him on. I extended my hand again toward his jeans to grab what was mine, but he caught my wrist and pulled it away. Promptly dropping his grip on me, he replaced the lust on his face with severity.

“And that, darlin’, is payback for your torture in Montréal,” he said while pinching my nipple. He slipped his hand between my legs to cup me, hissing at the heat he had managed to generate there.

“Hold on to this feeling until I’m ready to fuck you hard and long,” he commanded in my ear, and I got hotter and wetter.

If I’d had the presence of mind to anticipate his villainy, I would’ve been better prepared with an angry frown. Instead, I stood stupefied, my mouth gaping in disbelief, hands in mid-air where he had left them. A frown did finally appear, but it was, at best, a feeble afterthought. If I could curse, I would have unleashed a string of the choicest words.

But all I could manage was, “You are the devil. You are as heartless as they come!”

“Yes, babe. Didn’t you know that already?” He dragged his thumb with some force across my lower lip and along the dent in my chin. “Now, don’t be late. I’ll go change, but I want to see you all pretty and dolled up. Got it?”

Oh yeah, I had got it. I would give him dolled up in a way he would never expect.

After I chucked him out of the room, I changed into a fresh pair of hipsters. Then, I slipped into the teal lehenga Tara had custom-made for me and went to the large guest room, where the make-up artists had set up shop.

When they began draping the dupatta, I asked them to leave my back and waist bare. My plan was to put myself on full display, then deny him the pleasure of my body. Two can play at that game. Instead of fashioning my hair into an updo, I opted to let my curls cascade along my back.

If he didn’t die to dig his fists into them, I’d change my name, as they say in Hindi.

The make-up was simple but irresistible. Sheer foundation, light shimmery eyeshadow, false lashes, and a plum lipstick that complemented my bright pink dupatta. Finally, I put on a kundan necklace that sat comfortably on my collarbone. The big but surprisingly lightweight earrings came mid-way to my shoulders.

I glimpsed at my reflection in the mirror. Try resisting me now, Mihir Seth.

As I descended the stairs, I caught him ambling around aimlessly, waiting for me. His gaze froze on me like it had once before, and he mouthed an expletive, which make me gush inwardly. Turning my nose up, I brushed past him and across the foyer.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say that seeing him sent my heart and other things throbbing. He wore a kurta that showed off his toned torso, with tight cotton leggings that accentuated his strong calves, making his legs longer and sexier. The beard added to his regal look. The only things missing were a royal turban and a string of pearls around his neck, and he’d pass as royalty.

He followed me to the grand living room where everyone had gathered. I settled down beside Tara while we waited for the henna artists to arrive. Mihir followed me and took an empty seat on the couch, diagonal from where I sat.

I played the demure, good girl with downcast eyes that were set firmly on the hands in my lap. Then I glanced up at him and winked. His face changed, and he quickly scanned the company around us to check if anyone had noticed. I, for one, remained unperturbed. I knew there was too much commotion for anyone to pay heed to us.

When I was sure I had his attention again, I pretended to adjust the dupatta in my lap while tracing a seductive finger along my neck and chest. I looked up once more and winked again. He froze again. From the corner of my eye, I saw him shift in his seat, then get up and walk away.

When the henna artists arrived, we settled under the shaded pergola in the backyard. The waning sunlight made for a pleasant evening, and the outdoor heaters were already set to a cozy temperature. The pergola had been decorated with floral arrangements and garlands. Bright, vivid cushions flanked the elegant seating, making it a picturesque background for colorful photos. Tara sat with her feet propped up on low stools as two artists began working on them. She looked gorgeous. I pulled out my phone, clicked a few pictures, and uploaded them to Instagram.

As the guests arrived, I chatted with Mihir’s parents, got introduced to Sameer’s cousins, and joined in their shenanigans while strategically avoiding Juhi.

When the artists finished adorning Riya’s hands and arms with delicate floral designs, I took her spot. As I settled down with pillows under my elbows, Riya came over and held out her hands.

“Absolutely gorgeous!” I said. “Now make sure you don’t touch anything until it’s dry, or it will smudge.”

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